


Choice and Circumstance

by Song_of_Serendipity (Nomad_of_Night)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (mostly), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Finns POV, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance, mention of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:09:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5572207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomad_of_Night/pseuds/Song_of_Serendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FN-2187 becomes Finn - and learns that there are still good things to fight for along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choice and Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first attempt at fan fiction. Stormpilot seems to be inspiring ^^- and it started out as a tiny domestic fluff drabble that turned around and told me it wanted to be something else. So I let it.  
> It's a bit angsty but not StormPilot angsty- the precious space babies do not hurt each other. It is technically pre-slash but you could argue about that.  
> I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave comments/ let me know if you think any tags are missing!

 

_ Every generation has its heroes, those burdened with greatness.  _

_ Some by choice, some by circumstance and some by neccessity-  _

_ but all united with a brave heart and the courage to light the way out of darkness. _

FN-2187 remembered the stories from his early childhood and the faces of those old heroes often populated his dreams.   
He rarely got to see any other faces in everyday life. In the First Order, human interaction, let alone affection, was discouraged.  
Empathy and warmth were foreign concepts.  
His world was one of extremes: sweltering heat in the bulking uniforms, chilling cold at night on the icy base. Contrasts in stark monochrome. Steel and silver and black and white. Hard and cool to the touch.

He slept with his hands holding on tightly to his arms. Especially when the nightmares came. One of the rare occasions he was allowed the softness of human touch. It was comforting, even if it was just his own. All day in uniform usually denied him even this. But at night it helped keep the panic at bay that was always there, in the back of his mind, threatening to pull him under.

Possessions where restricted to the higher ranks.  
FN-2187 did not even have his own uniform. After every mission the blaster had to be brought to the armory for inspection and his uniform was switched out for a mended and cleaned one every week, his black undergarments every two days. 

He'd purposely scratched a couple of notches in the rim of his chest plate once but he'd never seen them reappear on either his or another troopers issued uniform.

He'd started to long for missions. They meant a break in the monotony and being outside and something other than the oily, metal-clean smell of Starkiller Base.  
And finally he'd been assigned to a steady division and was set to ship out with the next order.

Music was discouraged but one of his companions had hummed an old melody he had retained and he'd taught him. They all held on to some tiny, fading pieces of home as long as they could during the first years of training.

His bunkmate even stole an old metal tube and a spoon from the trash compactor at his sanitation job to give the quiet notes a rhythm. When the general found the hidden treasures, FN-2280 had been taken away one evening while FN-2187 had laid on his cot, staring straight ahead, fists clenched as tightly as possible to keep them from shaking.

The next day, FN-2187 had been re-assigned to sanitation to fill an opening.  
He knew his stories now never ended with smiling heroes.  
In the freighter down to Jakku, the vibrating metal had been so deafening, rattling him to the core, he'd started humming the old song to combat the ringing in his ears.

He didn't know the trooper dying before him. Not his designation or station. And even if he had, he couldn't be sure that he or she rememberd him in turn.   
Training was rigorous and the conditioning sessions had been increased in frequency since Starkiller Base had neared completion.  
Attachments were undesirable.  
Mistakes would not be tolerated.

Still, the dark crimson was a color he hadnt seen in a long time. It snapped something in his mind in two. A screen he had kept up out of fear of what he would find behind it- if he allowed it to come down. But it was too late. 

Memories came rushing back in. Memories from his own capture, the raid on _his_ village and his parents' murder.  
And the noise! All that noise of people begging for their life and screaming...screaming... - the screams from back then pulsing through him as a ghosthly echo of those now filling the desert night of Jakku.

Breathe, he couldnt breathe... he needed to calm down, needed fresh air! FN-2187 scrambled to get his helmet off – come on, come _on-_ and stood in the loading bay gasping, reliving every moment in vivid detail. 

Almost two decades of training and programming... and one minute of actual fire fight, of what his superiors kept telling him he was _born_ to do, was _made_ to do... it was too much. He greedily sucked in air but the images wouldnt leave him alone.  
Captain Phasma startled him back to the present moment.  
Her orders biting and concise as always, but it didn't matter. He knew he had only one chance and he was going to take it.

\------------

The man standing across from him must have thought it just as astonishing to see a stormtrooper out of armor, judging by the way he stared after FN-2187 had removed his helmet.

„ _I can fly anything!“,_  
stated with such conviction and pride, FN-2187 couldnt help but grin.  
He was rewarded with a smile that made the fear sit less heavy in his chest- it had been a long time since he'd seen one of those.  
He was so starved for a face he could look at without repercussions that he forgot to answer for a second.  


_"Because it's the right thing to do".  
_ He watched with fascination how eyebrows furrowed and those inquisitive eyes narrowed.

So expressive.  
No wonder they had to wear helmets and avoid eye contact in the unit. Every thought appeared to bring new motions to the lines and panes of the prisoners face. The connection it sparked between them was almost tangible, like a slow buzzing in his mind. 

If troopers had readable expressions instead of blank helmets who knew how many more would try and run. If the good memories would be enough to lessen the ridges etched by fear. Those that were sure to tell anyone they'd be better off somewhere else. Anywhere else.  
But most of those who could remember some bits and pieces of the _before_ beyond basic training eventually let go of their fond memories. The recollection of what was lost became too painful, easier to just fit in, try and find a place within the new order. 

„ _You need a pilot.“_

And that cocky grin made him gasp in delighted surprise despite his rising panic. It was gonna be real- he was really going to try and escape!  
_They_ were.

„ _We're gonna do this!“_

 

„ _Whooohoo! Did you see that?!“_

„ _I saw it!“_

And just like that, Poe gave him something he never thought he could have: an idea of self, seperate from his designation. He was an individual....he had a _name!  
_ Without a moments' hesitation, Poe had thrown his lot in with Finns and now he had gifted him with something immaterial yet incredibly precious. 

In the span of a single heartbeat, Poe declared FN-2187 dead and Finn was recognized as someone with his own ideas, a unique person whose past did not dictate his future. Finn was in awe of this man who instead of judging him, took everything in stride and met him head-on, as an equal.  
And there was a slight flutter in his chest that told him something more, something he didn't quite understand yet.

After the crash, Finn was desperate to find Poe. The TIE fighter was destroyed but there was no body, just Poes' jacket that he pulled out and clang to like a lifeline on his punishing march through the desert. 

He was fairly sure that the pilot hadn't made it, but to his amazement, the absence of proof gave him another gift that he had almost forgotten about: hope.

 

\------------

Finn grabbed Rey's hand and pulled her along. Again. 

He'd seen first hand that she could handle herself, possibly better than he'd been able to, but he couldn't bear the thought of another person getting killed because of him. He had caused enough death and suffering in his life and he was determined to honor his new name with a fresh start. So he grabbed her hand- and ran.

Their education had been sorely lacking in language studies. A trooper who could understand the enemy was far more likely to fraternize or to cave under torture. They were supposed to take any knowledge they might have to the end of the line and pass over without ever sharing it. 

Finn grinned when he realized that he'd managed to trample right through that wall of silence and come out the other side to a friend who not only understood _him_ perfectly but was seemingly capable of communicating with a wide array of creatures, humanoid and otherwise.  
This apparently included old trashy spaceships. He was one lucky bastard. 

As devoid of any everyday skills as his education was, his combat training had been extensive and included not only the practical side of weaponry and close combat fight but also historical knowledge of pretty much every battle worth naming. The Trillian Massacre was not one of those he'd wished to remember, but here he was, hiding from rathtars and running for his life. He was starting to lose count of how many times in the last 24 hours he'd been in situations like this. Friends and freedom seemed to come with a pretty heavy price tag.

\------------

Maz gave him a way out. A way to possibly start a life far away from the First Order. His heart ached at the thought of losing the last of what few but precious things he'd gained since his escape, of losing Rey. But he couldn't risk it. His presence alone was dangerous enough, BB-8 was like a homing beacon. And he couldn't go back, he just couldnt.... 

  


Starkiller base. The life of a whole sun, spent to kill millions. 

When the destruction of some nearby planets lit up the sky over Takodana, Finn realized with some surprise that he had made up his mind already and running away would not get him where he was supposed to be. For better or worse, this fight was bigger than him and if he could be of use, make just a tiny difference, then that's what he would do. 

He was trained for this, trained for battle! Now the skills he had so despised during his years as a nameless trooper might help him make amends. So he turned from the ships loading bay and sprinted back towards the castle.

  


„ _Yeah! Whoohoo! That's ONE HELL of a pilot!“_

Finns joyous cry rang out over the ruins and blaster fire around him. What a pilot! Almost as good as...he stared at the X-wing Starfighter chasing over the bay.  
Could it be? His pulse quickened at the possibility.

As soon as the _Falcon_ had landed at the resistance base, Finn jumped off board, running towards the fighters, not paying any mind to the people and carriers around him. He craned his neck and darted straight to where he could see the x-wing squadron. BB-8 knocked him aside when he raced to one ship in particular and...

There. Finn gasped at the view of the familiar tousled hair.

Poe. 

„ _Poe!_

_Poe Dameron! You're alive!“_

Hurrying towards one another, the two men fell into a tight embrace, Finns fingers trembling as he held onto Poes flight suit. He was alive. Poe was alive.  
He was still shaking slightly when they stepped back to look at each other.

They were talking, both of them, but it hardly mattered. The relief and pure joy at finding the other unharmed was clearly written all over their faces.

„ _Keep it_....“

It was _his_ jacket now, truely and fully. His! He'd never owned anything, at least as far back as he could remember and Poe gave his most valued possession to him with the same ease with which he shared his smile and praise...  


 

\------------

He had to go back. To Starkiller Base.

So soon and he had to go back, to save Rey. They would find a way, they had to try.   
Poe squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and General Organa nodded with a tight smile.  


Rey surprised them all- but when Kylo Ren appeared, the whole endevour became a blur of adrenaline and pain. So much pain.  
The blade pierced his shoulder, went right through his jacket and set his whole being on fire, the torment ripping a deafening scream from his lungs. 

As the lightsaber struck his back, the searing heat raced through his core in such blinding agony that he welcomed the black void that followed.

 

\------------

His dreams changed in med bay. 

The usual nightmares where there, still.

But sometimes a bright blue calm would gently edge out the dizzying panic and slow his thoughts enough that he could get a grip on them, keep the constant spinning at a bearable pace. Somewhere deep down he was sure that Rey was testing the limits of her new found atunement to bring him some semblence of quiet, if only for a few minutes until the pain screamed through his body again and dragged him back into the roiling depths. 

Other times he could feel a soft warmth pulling at the edges of his consciousness, radiating out from a point of contact on his hand or cheek or forehead.  
The images of blaster fire and helmets, screams and the scent of things burning that shouldnt- they made way for a kind and eager smile in heat-flickering dunes, for glinting eyes that betrayed the weary stance of the man they belonged to. The black and white and silver faded into yellow, into green and blue and brown, like the reassuring feel of old worn leather. And finally, the designation he'd lived with for so long, sharply spit out by captains and supervisors lost its harshness . 

_"FN-2187 !"_  


„ _FN! „_

„ _FINN! „_

„ _Finn…“_

 

„ _Finn... Finn?“_

When Finn slowly blinked his eyes open and focused on him, Poe let out a shaky breath: _„...Finn.... oh, thank the stars. You're okay!_

_You'll be fine, buddy, it's gonna take a while, but you'll be okay.“_

Finn hummed gently, still drowsy from the anesthetic. This was nice- he felt warm through and through, the softness surrounding him was a welcome change. And something else, there had been something else...his gaze followed the pilots arm down to where he had his hand resting on Finns- he made no move to pull away but when he looked back up, searching his eyes, Poe seemed to lose his nerve and let his hand fall down to his side.

“ _The jacket... your jacket took quite the hit, though I'm sure we can mend it if you want! Finn, I... I'm so glad you're alright._

_Rey is gone to find Luke, maybe you've heard. Has she told you- did you hear us? I didn't know if... ye, I should probably... you need to rest and the medics keep telling me they need to check on you.  
I'll come back later, okay?_ ” 

Finn answered with a smile and got a relieved grin in return. 

What the First Order hadn't managed in two decades, Poe Dameron did in just two days- Finn was completely captivated by him.

He wasn't exactly the hero of legend, it wasn't as simple as it had always seemed in his stories, but he had met legends, he now worked amongst them, with them. He'd met people whose courage in the face of adversity astonished him and Poe... Poe made him think of cool mornings with cups of coffee at sunrise, watching the steam waft off into the tinted sky- of warm evenings, spiced with mischievous laughter and knowing looks.  
He had mellowed Finns world of extremes, colored it in until there were no more absolutes and harsh edges and he could not wait to find out how _their_ tale would be told. 

When Poe brushed his hand against Finns the next morning, he held on- and this time, neither of them let go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll likely go back a couple times and edit any mistakes I can find.  
> Please let me know what you think so far =)


End file.
